


bodies to breathe, and arms to hold.

by gallantrejoinder



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Pining, Sleep, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Why do I write so many fucking fics about sleeping and waking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: You cannot deny the truths that are found in dreams.





	bodies to breathe, and arms to hold.

It is easy to pretend that what happens while she sleeps is merely the product of a dreaming landscape. Her mind and her heart have been so starved for affection that for years they have been forced to imagine, subconsciously, the arms of a stranger. For years on Jakku it kept her sane. When every aspect of her survival required her independence, she always had the comfort of dreams, and it meant she didn’t need to risk relying on anyone else who might kill her the second their luck turned. Of course it is easy to tell herself that’s what’s happening to her now.

But Jakku is far away, if not yet long ago. She shouldn’t need to dream of touch anymore. Not when Leia is there to lay a comforting hand on her arm, when Finn reaches out to everyone around him with the warmth of someone who will open like a flower to the slightest kindness, when even those Resistance members she doesn’t know so well – like Poe, and the now conscious Rose – clap each other on the back to remind themselves they’re still here. And of course, Chewie has never been shy about lending his considerable warmth to a hug. For all these reasons – these _people_ , _her_ people – she shouldn’t need to dream of being held, and of holding.

But the other option to explain what’s happening her, the one that she tries to tell herself is impossible, would break her heart. Dreams they must be. And if not, she’ll make them so.

They spend their days in flight, while Leia attempts to make contact with what few friends she has left. Despite everything, there is a determination in her eyes that does not sink even as she fails again and again. They all know she will find a way eventually, they feel it in their bones, and that holds them together. Even after everything, they have faith in her.

They sleep in shifts. Chewie is reluctant to give up control of the Falcon to anyone but her, since Leia can’t fly it, too busy with her contacts, or otherwise exhausted. Poe offers, once, but Chewie declines with some words about the state of his x-wing that send Poe away grumbling.

So, they switch places every few hours to rest, only nearing civilisation to refuel, before quickly taking off once more. The First Order know exactly who they’re looking for, and won’t hesitate to destroy the last remnants of the Resistance if they’re found. There are no bargains for traitors.

That’s what Finn says, anyway, with a look in his eyes that says he knows.

She tries not to doubt it, but –

No, she won’t let herself think about why they might hesitate now.

In any case, the only time she’s alone these days is when she sleeps, alone in a tiny nook by the empty escape pod port, where no one can see her tracing the side of the wall with her fingertips, wondering about all the things that might have been. No one can see her hold the broken halves of a lightsaber so heavy with its history that, under duress, it split down the middle. No one can see her peruse the texts she took from the island, struggling to understand the ancient prose and stylised shapes of the letters.

And no one can see her sleep. That’s important, because anything could happen while she’s asleep. She doesn’t have control over her dreams, even in the process of waking, when they cling to her tightest of all.

But this time it takes longer for the dream to release her.

Long enough that as consciousness unfurls through her body, she begins to understand that something is _wrong_. Her senses flood with fear, freezing her in place, stopping her breath.

It’s only when the sound of her breathing stops that she understands what the problem is. The sound of it creeps up on her with the hairs that rise upon the back of her neck. Someone is breathing, beside her. The warmth at her back is not her own.

 _No, no. Not here. Not now_.

Not when she can’t deny the meaning of her feelings anymore, pretending they’re only dreams – not when she’s _awake_.

But her mind is clear, her eyes are open, and he’s at her back, his arm around her waist. He blocks out the light coming into her nook with his massive form, and she doesn’t dare look back at him. Can’t stand to know if he’s awake or sleeping. Either option is awful.

But she can’t lay there forever. Chewie will come to find her soon, or Finn, or – the Force forbid it, but Leia could come for her too. And they will see him, she knows, because he’s only invisible when he can’t touch her.

She can feel the warmth of him.

Now, his hand is against her stomach, and it’s all she can think of. It burns like a brand, and it’s surrounded by that terrible strangeness that is the active Force, when something impossible is being made real. She shudders against it.

Enough of that. It means nothing, and she needs him gone before anyone finds her. That’s what she needs to focus on.

She grits her teeth, and shifts, turning her body to face his, hoping to rouse him enough to make him wake up and _leave_. She doesn’t let herself think of what he might say if he does, only concentrating on the immutable fact that _he needs to be gone_.

But he doesn’t wake. His heavy arm against her side pulls her in even closer, and she finds her hand against his chest, pressing back desperately, even as her forehead falls into place against him. She squeezes her eyes shut, sudden tears behind them.

She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want to be held, or to hold. Not with _him_.

But no matter how many times she repeats the mantra, the ache in her chest won’t ease. Her eyes are wet with anger and a wild kind of desperation to be closer, all at once. And still, infuriatingly unaware of the storm brewing inside her, he sleeps.

She looks up, pushing herself back from his chest. His expression is astonishingly peaceful – like nothing she’d ever seen on Ach-To, and far from the certainty and the battle-readiness of the throne room. It isn’t broken, pleading, like when –

He looks the way she imagines he looked before Luke raised a saber against him.

A tear makes its way down, across her nose, along her cheekbone, and she hates it. She hates that she still wants something better for him than this.

Footsteps, further away than she ought to be capable of hearing, interrupt her thoughts. She sucks in a breath, jumping back from him, crushing her back against the wall painfully.

He must have felt it, because in the next moment, his eyes blink open. For a moment, his face is comically confused, and despite herself, she almost wants to laugh at him. But then focus returns, and he sees her. The blood drains from his face. Terror and something like want war in his eyes as they flicker over her.

“Rey,” he whispers, his voice cracked and rough from sleep.

“Ben,” she replies, without thinking.

She needs to tell him to leave. She needs to tell him he must be gone before someone comes.

He looks at her, curled up like a child, vulnerable in the weak light streaming in over his shoulder. She looks back, and can think of nothing at all to say to him that he doesn’t already know.

“Hey Rey, you back there?”

Rose. She shouldn’t be up yet. Rey should check on her, should –

He opens his mouth to speak, but never gets the chance. The Force closes the space between them as silently as it had opened it, without ceremony, without goodbyes.

He’s gone, and she lets out a shuddering breath. The sounds of the ship flood her ears with silence where he’s supposed to be, and she breathes into it unsteadily.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's 2017 and a bitch is openly a Reylo now. Let me know what you thought, I thrive off your comments. <3
> 
> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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